Elixir Vitae

2011-12-12T18:35:00.000-08:00

Rock and Roll with Wine and Soul in Bordeaux

We were nestled into our tiny but comfortable room at the Hotel Notre Dame in Bordeaux, weary from traveling around the vast area of the region and in need of sustenance. Looking for something more casual than multi-course, more laid-back than formal, we thought we’d give a brand new local place a try. Just around the corner and down a quiet side street we saw the bold orange and black banner of Wine and Soul, so in we went.

The Soul

The proprietors, young and friendly and multilingual, welcomed us proudly and urged us to sit anywhere we wished. Since we had apparently arrived just as the doors opened for business, we had several choices, for the long room was neatly sectioned into different areas. There was the bar up front, the standing tables opposite, the comfortable lounges on one side in the back for larger parties, and the small dining tables adjacent.

Service was immediate and friendly and we shortly had a wine list, our own personal menu board, and a willing waiter to assist us. Our first pleasant surprise was when we learned that the young hip set in Bordeaux is perfectly willing to learn about wines from different regions. Although there was a goodly supply of locally produced wines, there were wines from other French regions, as well as Italian, German, and several Spanish. The waiter, when asked, admitted that Spanish wines were quite the thing currently. We opted for an attractively priced and tempting Austrian, Ried Vogelsang by Heidi Schrock, a juicy, spicy white composed of Welschriesling, Weissburgunder (Pinot Blanc), and Gelber Muskateller.

The Wine

It was aromatic and tasty, but not all that balanced. Had I not been told it was a blend of the three varieties I would have assumed outright it was the musky Muskateller; the Pinot Blanc didn’t assert itself much and the Welschriesling not at all. Hard to divine what Schrock intended with this wine---one assumes it might be the different notes of the three wines in the harmony of a bird’s sweet trill, but it came across more as a repetitive chirp without variation.

The Food

Still and all, the wine was serviceable with the altogether impressive foodstuffs we ordered. First there was the nod to carbohydrates and grease, a delicious bowl of crispy/crunchy pomme frites doused in a light garlic cream and loaded with lardons of chewy pork. Roxi managed a careful self-control with the dish; I didn’t even bother, and dived right in. After all, we had ordered it, and if any was left they’d think we didn’t like it, and that wasn’t polite, was it?

The cheese platter arrived shortly afterwards. No one does fealty to cheese quite as well as the French; they take it seriously. They huge platter was a perfect combination of aromas, flavors and textures: a double layered Morbier with its internal layer of ash; a dark-hued and heavy-skinned wedge of well aged Ste. Nectaire at its peak of flavor; strips of the classic Comté, nutty and toothy; small wedges of nicely cellared Brie, and delicate slices of Tomme de Savoie. Add to that a small ramekin of fruit paste, a mound of candied peanuts and an endless basket of ficelles and you had feast enough for the entire evening.

Of course, we didn’t stop there. We shared a filet of sole with sautéed greens and a white butter sauce, which helped us polish off the bottle of Vogelsang nicely.

Soul, Redux

By then Wine and Soul had filled up with a wide range of people from different age groups, some standing, some lounging, some at the bar---singles, couples, small groups, each in their different orbits, each enjoying themselves over the background noise of the French version of disco-ized American Pop and Rock and Roll. We lingered for a while, for it was cozy and comfortable and friendly.

Local Color and Goodnight

As we wandered out into the narrow side street down to rue Notre Dame, a young man plaintively called up to a pretty and slender young girl leaning out a casement window on the third floor. He was obviously yearning and pleading for entrance, but she would have none of it. Romeo continued to plead his case with increasingly eloquent desperation, but his fair Juliet would have none of it and curtly closed the window on him. As he moped away down the dark and silent street we turned the other way to our hotel replenished with food and wine and soul and ready for bed.

Would we go back? Yes we would. Pleasant, not at all pretentious, a bit adventurous, better than expected food, a wide-ranging wine list and a mellow relaxed vibe. What's not to like?

A shot and a beer---my way

2011-10-24T11:30:00.000-07:00

A Shot and a Beer---My Way!

It had been a long day, most of it standing and moving on tired knees and complaining ankles, with the slow, low ache in the small of the back. A long day, but a good day, a satisfying day with a job well done. Now it was time to relax and reward in a lively but not too loud bar with a little liquid refreshment in good company. It was time for a shot and a beer.

There might be times, I’ll admit, when a standard generic brew and a well shot could work...but this wasn’t one of them. If you’re rewarding and relaxing, you should do it right.

To drink right you have to a good bar. If you happen to be in Anchorage, Alaska, one great place to go is Suite 101 Restaurant and Bar. Good food and a bar worth bellying up to---if you can get to the bar through all the folks that got there before you and don’t want to leave. Go early; this is a mighty popular place!

To drink right you have to order right, and a quick two-second scan of the bar told me that was easily achieved.

The shot was a tight, snappy Manhattan made with Woodford Reserve Kentucky Bourbon, soft and sweet with the obligate corn, supported with the firm body of malted barley and reinforced with the zesty spice of rye (whence cometh the aforementioned snap). There are some aficionados of the Manhattan that prefer a sweeter style of Manhattan, but I’m not one of them---too sweet, the balance of the drink is off, making it a sweet instead of a nervy-taut and spicy cocktail with a noticeable bite.

The beer? Easy, when there’s a tap handle sticking up from the bar that says Stella Artois. They even have the classic Stella glass, tall and fat-bellied with just the right balance in the hand and just the right curve to show off the fine bead. And for the final perfect touch, it’s just the right temperature, chilled but not so cold the taste is obliterated and warming up ever so slowly as you work your way down the glass, and holding just the right gas balance, not too soft, not too sharp. Stella Artois is a great light style from Leuven, Belgium (where they know how to make good beer). Crisp, tangy, yeasty, mild hops, and an all around easy-drinking brew, it was the perfect followup to the Woodford Manhattan.

There’s nothing quite like a shot and a beer after a long day’s work. Especially when you call the right shot and the right beer.

2011-09-04T18:48:00.000-07:00

NxNW: Alfred Hitchcock Would Be Proud

I am conflicted, gentle readers. Long a proponent of labeling multi-varietal wines, and even longer a proponent of more 'truth in labeling' so as to raise the general consciousness gently about what was in those bottles that tasted so good, I come across something like this, a marketer's dream turned into a nightmare of specificity and a mockery of pseudo-geeky cork-dorky regional wine jingoes.

The acronymic umbrella name for the brand I like. It's visual and catchy for a moderate priced wine and grabs the eye to pull you in.

But beyond that, uh?

Let's see: looks like eleven different vineyards contributing fruit here. And of course, we can pick out the influence each had to make this wine what it is. Of course. Especially the three with the contribution of 1% each.

Then we are told these grapes were harvested over a forty-five day period (but vexingly, not when each vineyard was harvested. Why not!)

Further, we find the varietal breakdown of the contents---Cabernet Sauvignon, Merlot, Cabernet Franc, and Petit Verdot---apparently they could not find any Malbec in time to burnish this mix.

Wait? So now we know the eleven vineyards and their precise percentages. And roughly what time they were harvested (given a month and a half window). And the percentage of varieties in the blend. Okay. Okay. Good information all, I'll admit, although I'm not sure of any usefulness it might have...maybe so I can muse over the relative ripeness of the grapes and whether the seeds when bitten were green or brown? Perhaps. Perhaps. Trouble is, appetite whetted with this overload of information, I now want to know what vineyard grew what grape in what percentage?

And let us not forget the proud declamation of "French & American Oak". Oak must not have sufficient respect though, for the brand to give us specific percentage of how much of each constituted the regimen here. And doesn't everyone want to know which French & American oak---lot of difference imparted between Limousin and Nevers, you know. And surely there must be some Vosges in there? Stylish winemakers all use at least a little bit of Vosges these day, if only to say when asked, "Oh, there's some Vosges, of course. We like those tight grains in the Vosges." Vosges is in vogue in the Northwest.

There's the conflict I suffer. For years I've explained to anyone who would listen (most didn't; they didn't care very much) about providing more information that people might want to know, and providing some of it (more of it) clearly on the front label. And here this label comes along to do much of what I wanted to see---and it emerges as a marketer's jibble jabble, providing a profusion of information that appears to inform, but doesn't, essentially making the information part of the brand image, although the information provides little to no substantive information for the person buying this wine! The old sizzle sans steak rule.

How fitting this is also the name of one of Hitchcock's best flicks, a story where all is not what it appears to be, and of a man who just wants a little explanation and gets smoke and mirrors instead. Imaginative and attractive smoke and mirrors, mind you, but still nothing more than elaborate charades. Ooo, there's another movie that works!!!

Or wait again: maybe this is a cunning effort by the marketers to satisfy the desire of those wine geeks who love nothing more than endless discussion over wine---you know, those people who will bore you to death with the discussion of infinite pinhead-dancing angels regarding esoteric things like biodynamics and natural wine, and speculating avidly over what color Robert Parker's urine was after consuming an entire bottle of Chateau Lynch-Bages 2004? You know. Those people (blush).

(Feel free to tell me I'm making much ado about nothing [Ding. Another one.] or I'm focused on a tempest [Ding.] in a teapot, and should find better things to do than maunder around about this while simultaneously coming up with atrocious puns. But it irritates me. And after all, what are blogs for if not to air out the meaningless irritations of an old guy and waste other people's time?)

[And to my friend Thor, who might but probably won't read this: please note I did not misuse the word "variety"herein. Although I did otherwise mangle and disgrace the language in other ways.]

Stunning single cask Benedictine Liqueur

2011-09-02T14:04:00.000-07:00

Benedictine Single Cask Liqueur

Wow! Just...Wow!

Anyone who knows me, or reads the drivel I write, knows that I'm not often at a loss for words. This Benedictine so stunned me, though, that I was unable to describe it. All I wanted to do was have more.

You'll all be pleased to know that I got over it, and am now able to provide words with my usual logorrhea, however poor they may be at fully explaining how good this liqueur was.

The Benedictine Single Cask Liqueur, as far as I can determine, is still unreleased and unavailable in the U.S. And I have no idea what their plans are.

I've had it twice now: once from an internet journalist who received a preview sample, and again just recently courtesy of a bootlegged bottle luggaged back from a trip to England and Scotland by a bartender who wanted to get first hand knowledge of London Dry Gin and Single Malt Scotch and discovered this along the way.

The Benedictine Single Cask, billed as a "Very Fine Dry Liqueur", is just that. It is also subtle, elegant, delicately but profusely flavored (oxymoronic as that might sound) with the most intriguing and beguiling botanicals unobscured by too much sugar. This is a liqueur with a half-life, slowly trickling out scents and flavors that tease and tantalize right at the threshold of your awareness in what seems a never-ending sequeunce.

It's a liqueur I doubt you could ever get to the bottom of. And certainly not in one small serving.

I'm already a fan of the monastic liqueurs, both Benedictine and Chartreuse (more the green than the somewhat anemic yellow), and this version of the Benedictine represents the highest and grandest expression of botanically-driven liqueurs that ever I've had.

So seek this one out. Look for it when you travel abroad. Hope that it eventually makes its way to this country so you can score a bottle. Don't worry about how much it costs (quite frankly, I expect it will be an ultra-premium price, as it should be). Doesn't matter. Just get a bottle.

You'll be glad you did. And then you'll be sorry you didn't get two when you had the chance. And if you manage to get three, remember your old drinking buddy Hoke for turning you on to this most excellent of liqueurs.

Gemischter Satz at Gruner

2011-09-02T12:41:00.000-07:00

Crappy Picture of Good Wine

Gemischter Satz at Gruner

In which I continue my fascination with a particular wine from Austria known as "Gemischter Satz".

Having had occasion to meet up with old friend and bon vivant Jake Parrott and his wife Christina, Roxi and I ended up having dinner at Gruner in Portland, OR, an "Alpine-influenced" restaurant dedicated to bringing Alpine cooking from all the countries, regions, and cuisines of that area.

The wine list is a wine geek's dream, but we never got past the whites on this night, because the selection was so good, and whites suited our food choices so well, that we didn't have to go any further.

Which means, of course, we'll just have to go back and focus on the other side of the excellent wine list.

With so many choices, and with Jake and my own humble self being so devoted to Austrian, German, Friulian and Jura wines, we diddled for a long while and then compromised with the Wieniniger Wien Gemischter Satz 2009, a wine with which I was both very familiar and very fond of.

It's imported now by Winebow, and handled in Oregon by Lemma Wine Company.

The Wieninger Wien was all I had hoped for.

Served too cold for total enjoyment, it needed to warm up at the table, so we (barely) managed to restrain ourselves until the wine warmed and the apps arrived---said apps being an outstanding classic maltauschen, a Germanic pasta and ricotta that was so sublime you could hardly tell where the ricotta stopped and the pasta began; a concoction of eggplant, tomatoes, blistered red peppers, and delicious gypsy peppers in oil; and a thin, crackling, comfort food to the max, Alsatian flammenkuechen. (Yowsa! is, I believe, the technical term to apply at this point.)

The Wieninger then proceeded to explode with flavor, and since the rule of the Gemischter Satz, a tiny little zone/type found only on the outskirts of Vienna (Wien) is that of various un-announced field blends, we had the further wine geek's delight in trying to figure out what the hell was in the glass!

We knew there had to be Gruner Veltliner. And we were all pretty sure there was a sizable component of Pinot Blanc. Jake even went so far as to remark that the wine reminded him of Trimbach's Pinot Blanc from Alsace. But finally, we just gave up, gave in, and simply enjoyed the mingling of varieties of the wine.

The wine was profoundly responsive to the foods on the table as well (spaetzle with herb roasted chicken, house-made sausages with sauerkraut (which were truly exceptional, by the way, and I say that as a guy who lived for three wonderful years in Germany devouring as many great sausages as I could; plus the sauerkraut was more in the manner of French choucroute, one of the best dishes known to man), and a trout wrapped in speck that Jake was chowing down on.

Delivery of the bill at Gruner

The wine handily accommodated everything and adapted to it---hey, with all those field-blended varieties in there, it had to be flexible, right?---and made the meal a success.

And as a bonus, when opened the wine bottle made that most romantic of sounds that transported us into the land of bliss, that singular sound that all true wine lovers adore----the neat, crisp crack of the screwcap being snapped loose!

So go out and get yourself some Wieninger Wien Gemischter Satz, avaiable (hopefully) wherever Winebow's extensive tentacles reach in the U.S. You'll be glad you did.

Helioterra: Oregon Pinot Blanc with a Northern Italian accent

2011-05-21T09:30:00.000-07:00

You just never know when you're going to come across a really great wine.

This time I found a nifty one during...of all things...a single barrel bourbon tasting.

Yup. I was semi-officiating...well more like sententiously pontificating...at a single barrel bourbon selection tasting for a sizable bunch of whiskey enthusiasts, wherein we were all tasting individual barrel samples to decide which would be selected for the final bottling, and I found myself between two winemakers.

It was hardly a choice of a rock and hard place though, because one of them was an internet wine buddy, Vincent Fritsche (he of the Vincent Wine Company here in Oregon, as well as being one of the four Guild Winemakers, also here in Oregon). The other, as it turned out, was his partner in wine at Guild, Ann Hubatch, and also proud proprietor of her new winery debut, Helioterra.

Since several samples of bourbon (all in the name of serious science!) can make one loquacious---not that I need any lubrication for that, or so my wife frequently tells me---we all shortly found out that amidst all the many bottles of whiskey at the abounding bar, there was a bottle of Ann's Pinot Blanc.

"Aha!" said I. Yes, I do actually say "Aha!" on occasions, and this was one of them. A chance to continue my quest for the elusive but occasional good bottle of Pinot Blanc. So I asked Ann whether hers was closer to a fruity California style or an earthy Alsatian style.

"Neither," she quickly replied. "It's actually more like a Northern Italian Pinot Bianco---crisp, citrusy, lively, good acidity." "Aha," I said again (see, I told you I say it, but usually to myself), and immediately headed over to try the Helioterra Pinot Blanc.

She was right: decidedly Northern Italian in style, with lots of perky, zippy citrus fruit; crisp, nicely etched flavors; bright acids; a streak of green herbal (Ann said freshly shaved fennel, and I agree with her); and down deep a lovely earthiness, transmitted as both flavor and fullness in the mouth. For the first vintage out of the gate with her new label she has a winner, a thoroughly drinkable and engaging Pinot Blanc at a nice under-$20 price.

How did she manage the crispness and the eathiness in the same wine? She fermented partly in stainless steel and partly (small partly) in wood, and blended them together! Nicely done. (She's also a University of Wisconsin-trained geologist, so maybe she knows stuff about getting earth in wine than us regular people do, whaddaIknow?)

Turns out the Pinot Blanc's not a one trick pony either, because once I saw the label it nudged a memory, so I went on the internet when I got home and checked---the Helioterra Syrah Columbia Valley had received some serious kudos from Palate Press, the online wine magazine I read with some regularity (basically because it's good). You can read that review here.

So....rising star...ten year overnight phenom...puffs and points and prongs...blah blah blah. In short, stay tuned to Helioterra, and check it out when you get a chance. It's small production (by choice), so it may not be easy to find; but hey, nothing good is easy, right? Make the extra effort. You'll be rewarded. And in this life too; you don't have to wait for that damned Rapture, which apparently keeps getting postponed anyway.

Walla Walla Buty treatment----with Champoux!

2011-05-17T09:41:00.000-07:00

Went visiting last weekend over to Walla Walla wine country, in search of relatives, balloons, and wine.

Found the relatives, weather busted the balloon adventure---seems hot-air balloon festivals don’t work when it is heavy rain and high winds; go figure---and renewed my acquaintance with the excellent wines of Buty Vineyards.

I was supremely impressed with the entire operation last year at the World Wine Bloggers Conference held in Walla Wall. The people, the vineyard holdings, and the wines all combined to make for a promising future for this relatively new winery.

The rosé was a knockout, brimming with bright fruit. The white blend of Semillon, Sauvignon and Muscadelle was likewise shimmery bright and dancing with flavor. And their red wines, both the Syrah-based and the Bordeaux variety blends, were compelling, with the epitome of the brand in their evocative “Rediviva of the Stones” releases.

This visit/tasting showed they continue on that path. All the wines were a pleasure to taste, and there’s not a single one that wouldn’t grace any collector’s cellar or consumer’s table.

The 2010 Beast Rosé of the Stones from their promising young Rockgarden Estate Vineyard in the Walla Walla Valley (a site more reminiscent of Chateauneuf-du-Pape than anything else, with its fields of weathered river cobblestones; must have been ever so much fun to put that vineyard in!) was Grenache to the max, exploding with sweet fruit, lush and lovely and perfect for picnics and light summer fare.

The 2009 Semillon/Sauvignon/Muscadelle continued to show tight structure, with lush fruit well-restrained by acidity. Can’t help but wonder why Semillon from Washington State isn’t raved about more; certainly the examples I’ve had over the years puts it up there with Hunter River Valley and the handful of California producers for the variety. Suppose it’s just not a ‘sexy money grape’; more’s the shame, for it’s a grape worth focusing on, and does a fine job here of rounding out the flavor balance of this lovely white wine.

The Bordeaux blends were clamoring for attention in our tasting, though, so we hurried on to them. First was the 2009 Merlot & Cabernet Franc from the Connor Lee and Champoux Vineyards, with purportedly the highest rate yet of Cabernet Franc in the mix. Gorgeous wine; velvety rich and soft from the Merlot but bolstered beautifully (butifully? Sorry.) by the tobaccoey, slightly chocolatey Franc. A lovely combination done well by winemaker Caleb Foster.

Second up was the 2008 Champoux Vineyard Cabernet Sauvignon & Franc---similar to the previous, but with substantially more body; higher acid for structure; noticeably more tannin; denser, tighter blackberry fruit; and a long, extended finish. Short term: Merlot & Cabernet Franc. Longer term: the two Cabernets.

There were two Rediviva reds on the tasting bar. The 2007 Columbia Rediviva from the Phinney Hill Vineyard was excellent, but quite honestly the 2008 Rediviva of the Stones from the Walla Walla Valley was the attention-grabber here with its lush, just short of being over the top blueberry fruit contained within a Bordeaux-ish framework.

Caleb has been upfront in showing the world that the surprising blend of Syrah and Cabernet can be an altogether compelling combination, and this wine showcases exactly why that is. The elements of Syrah are there (more in a new world ripe fruit way, admittedly) to provide fullness and a lush, rich mouthfeel; but the addition of the Cabernet is a masterstroke, adding tight structure and impressive longevity and elegance to the mix.

With the vagaries of varietal trendiness going on these days, and the ups and downs in popularity of Syrah, this combination may show the future of the Walla Walla Valley wine region: two excellent grape varieties characteristic of the region that, combined, create something truly distinctive and enjoyable. This may just be the “Walla Walla Signature” that can vault a region into worldwide recognition.

I left with an even greater appreciation of what Caleb and Nina are accomplishing at Buty Vineyards. I also left with some wine. Buty remains one of the wineries to watch, from Walla Walla, Washington state and the Pacific Northwest.

Cassoulet at the Kesslers 2011, Part 4

2011-05-03T11:56:00.000-07:00

The 1998 Cote Rotie Jasmin is on the table. At first sip it's a heady brew, firm and vigorous and full of black fruit and brambles and leather. Should hold up well to the cassoulet.

And speaking of which, here's plates a-brimming with bean stew!

The smell is maddening, with mingled odors of duck and garlicky sausage. Hard to resist digging in when there's cassoulet on the table. Must. Wait. Everybody served? Go!

I always find it impossible to believe that BettyLu can manage to one-up herself from one year to the next. And I end up being proved wrong once again. This year she's upfront
about the major change: she wasn't at all happy with the quality of
the saucisse Toulouse---or would that be saucisson Toulousienne?---she was receiving from her purveyors, so she elected to go with a garlicky style of sausage this time. It's a firmer sausage, less grainy and mealy than the Toulouse, more tightly packed, and, to me, better, with a chewier, denser texture and a more noticeable garlic flavor. I belong to the No Such Thing As Too Much Garlic Club, so that's a good thing!

Cassoulet is such a wonderful all-around soul-satisfying dish, with the beans still firm and toothy and not cooked to a paste; the succulent and chewy confit with its rich, oily flavor; and the contrasting nature and texture of the sausages. And I love the salty, fat richness of the dish. Speaks to the peasant in me, I guess. Add one veggie for contrast---in this case some fresh and crunchy snap peas---and you've got a perfect meal for a frigid, damp winter day (and I don't care what the calendar says, it's winter out there still.)

The Cote Rotie is, once again and thank you Lou, a splendid match for the cassoulet. As it opens out and responds to the flavors of the dish, it manages to keep its firmness but adds a specific soft blueberry fruit underneath--or simply reveals it, I suppose; in any case, it is there. It is one of the more remarkable and enjoyable experiences in the world of wine and food to appreciate such an even match, where the full flavor of the food is equaled by the force and complexity of the wine.

I'm always intrigued with a great bottle of Cote Rotie: it engages intellectually as much as viscerally. There's a touch of Viognier in this one, about 5% (and no, I can't tell that with my nose; I looked it up on the InterWeb) and I imagine there is a corresponding 'lift' to the aromas as a result. But then, that could be my imagination more than a reality. Whatever is at work here, it's working well. What's not imagined but very real is the intricate complexity of the wine.

Jasmin itself is fascinating too, in the sense that the original Jasmin, who acquired the vineyards, was a notable chef in the region. Fitting, then, that his heritage wine continues to grace fine tables and enhance fine dishes like this cassoulet. Also fitting that the current Jasmin, Patrick, makes the wine as an assemblage of Cotes Brune and Blonde---perhaps in the way a chef would assemble and meld separate ingredients in a recipe?

Everyone makes the proper noises at this point. Nils Venge, old Napa grape wrangler that he is, chimes in with his highest compliment, when he tells Lou, "For something that's not Cabernet, this is pretty good wine."

But of course, we know there's more in store, don't we?

When the Cote Rotie begins to run low, out comes a local wine from one of our favorite local boys (who couldn't be with us at dinner because he was living the extravagant life in New York), Edmunds St. John Syrah Bassetti Vineyards 2001, from San Luis Obispo County.

Steve isn't using this source vineyard any longer, and more's the pity for it, sez I, because this is one big herkin' lunk of a wine, if you like it that way, and it's just now beginning to show some civilization and softening around the edges, but with that same wild, untamed heart it always had.

Ten years on. And still nothing but a gawky child. Shame they can't make California wines that age well, innit.

Way less polished sophistication and complexity than the Cote Rotie at right this moment in comparative wine time, but still a goodly match for the cassoulet---did we mention seconds had gone around, and Kevin tends to have a heavy hand with the serving spoon?---and managing to hold its own.

But Nils did mention Cabernet, and word was he may have done a harvest or two of decent stuff back when, so Lou once again heads to his wine cellar and comes out with a bottle of Villa Mt. Eden Cabernet Sauvignon Reserve Napa Valley 1978.

Nils looks to be approving of this development. He also looks impressed...although he doesn't look at all surprised to see it coming from Lou's cellar. But then, no one gets surprised at what may come from Lou's cellar.

Once again, roll out all the tired old cliches about Napa and wines that don't age, and they don't make 'em like that anymore (except when they do). Throw in an "alluvial plain" or "hothouse environment" for good measure. Hard to sneer, belittle or condescend when you have a wine such as this in the glass.

Still vibrant, humming with tension, tannins softened enough to round it out and balance the still fleshy fruit, this is a raspbery and blackberry cabernet, that dark, tart fruit style that seems to have endless depth to it, sufficient acids to keep it interesting, and tannins to keep it long and lingering and ever-so-slightly bittersweet at the back of the mouth, going from berry to tobacco to herbs to cocoa dust in one unbroken line.

There's a bit of dolce going around for a pleasant little interlude; then, with a refreshed palate, it's pass the port time. It's customary for BL to bring out the port glasses and pour, and so she does.

Fonseca Vintage Port 1977...and this makes an appropriate followup to the lovely red wines served with the cassoulet, because it has both deep blackberry and full-on licorice in excess, a fatter, sleeker, richer, more voluptuous echo of the syrah and reverberation of the cabernet. Perfect!

I have many fond memories of the 1977 vintage, and this is one of the finest of that year, perfectly apportioned and balanced and only now beginning to reveal its treasures. A remarkable bottle of port, and a more than fitting finish to a fabulous meal.

So the cassoulet season again comes to a pleasant close, tummies stuffed, appetites sated, good feelings all around; and even the rain has stopped, for now. As the fortunate few of this last gathering of Cassoulet 2011 wend their way into the night, they're already already anticipating next year...

Cassoulet at the Kesslers 2011, Part 3

2011-04-30T14:45:00.000-07:00

Biscuits and toast! Sweet lemon curd. Seville oranges.

Allow me to elaborate: fresh baked biscuits, hot from the oven, so hot you grab for one quickly and juggle it from hand to hand until it cools enough to handle gingerly, just with your fingertips; delicately crusty on top but when you twist it open and it exhales a little puff of steam, it’s doughy soft inside and smells fresh and clean and still a bit yeasty, just waiting for the slather of pure creamery butter.

But in the background, clanking and futtering and making the mysterious sounds of hot metal expanding, an old toaster is emitting fumes of toasty bread, with a touch of char and wisp of black smoke where the reliable antique always burns a bit too close to the slab of hand-cut bread so that you always look to see if there is a toasted face of Jesus or beneficent Mary beaming out in singed glory to start your morning.

Allow me to summarize: Egly-Ouriet Brut Les Vignes de Vrigny Champagne.

When champagne-lovers strive to come up with appropriate descriptors for the elegance and subtle complexities of champagne, it often comes out elaborated, stilted, artificial, too intricate by far; champagne is difficult to describe, in large part because as soon as you try to grasp something in champagne it shifts away, teasing and elusive and coy, and shows you another side, briefly, to lead you on and back for another sip. What was that?

Best, then, to stick with the basics and leave it at that, hoping some of the message, although inchoate will get through.

So, Egly-Ouriet: biscuits and toast. You had to be there.

Then, with the refill of Egly-Ouriet safely in the glass, BettyLu’s exquisite shrimp bisque arrives, a lovely bowl of pearly pink and creamy broth exuding a heavenly rich aroma. An appreciative gasp from the diners, and murmurs of anticipation, and quiet descends as all apply themselves to the bisque, creamy sweet and delicious and exquisitely cut with the brisk and acidic lemony-toasty bite of crystalline Champagne.

The only problem here is restraint. The bisque and champagne is so beguiling you’re ready to replay Oliver in the poorhouse and supplicate for more of each…but all of us are experienced enough in the plentitude of BL’s cassoulet that we muster up what willpower we have and grudgingly say no to the seconds we really do want.

As the ever reliable Kevin begins to prepare the plates in the kitchen for the main course, Lou brings out the headliner wine.

There’s always a bit of excitement here---we know it’s going to be good, but we don’t know exactly what it’s going to be. Usually…but not always…Rhone, yes; but Lou has surprised us in the past, and even in the Rhone there is sufficient variation of style to keep us wandering.

It is to be a classic evening, it appears, for Lou brings out Robert & Patrick Jasmin Cote Rotie 1998.

And then the plates of cassoulet begin to arrive…

Cassoulet at the Kesslers 2011: Part 2

2011-04-24T17:27:00.000-07:00

And the social hour continues, with more food, more wine, and increasingly more voluble conversation as both are consumed.

Just as we knew there would be Austrian there, we also expected a fine Burgundian---and lo and behold, what did our wandering eyes see appear on the bar but...why, yes, it is: 2004 Chassagne-Montrachet 1er Cru - Les Caillerets, Domaine Fontaine-Gagnard.

And a fine Chassagne-Montrachet it is too. A bit slow to emerge, even though it is at perfect serving temperature, neither too chilled nor too warm; yet, it is shy. Thankfully, not too much evidence of oak---which means there is some, but it is in moderation, just as it should be. Why make wine from chardonnay and then mask it with oak, after all? Maybe these French guys know what they're doing.

It's right about then I realize---this wine isn't shy at all! It's elegant. It has a brightness and liveliness that is charming, with assertive citrus notes backed up by some minerality, and what I thought was a shy nose is simply a delicate, light perfume of white flowers---honestly, like smelling a bouquet of fresh flowers with a squeeze of lemon, bizarre as that description may sound. This is a subtle, understated wine that requires a little attention...so subtle you might easily overlook it if more assertive ones were around making more noise.

And what's that noisy little bottle over there, demanding attention (and getting it)? Aha, Mount Eden Vineyards Santa Cruz Mountains Chardonnay 2006.

Nothing shy about this one, and counterpoint to the a pointe of the Chassagne-Montrachet, the MEV is also bright, but California-sunshiny, ripe orange bright, with a little dash of fresh lime juice in there to perk it up. This is the fruit-drenched, cool place in a warm climate, developed fruit kind of style...and you have to get used to all that fruit before you realize, it too has subtleties (yes, actual subtleties!) underneath that cornucopia. There's a lovely structure of acidity and minerality holding it together---not as much stone as the Chassagne-Montrachet, but then again, that's a wine of a different place and style, and the MEV has need of more lattice of acidity to support the zaftig opulence it has to carry.

The Chassagne-Montrachet is a lovely chardonnay from a region where you often have to coax the ripeness and development of fruit, then take care to keep the structure light but firm. The MEV, on the other hand, is a different sort of challenge, a wine with such a natural abundance of fruit that it requires balance and restraint in its underpinnings. Both winemakers have done impressive jobs with their respective wines.

But wait....there's another white wine on the counter!!! Cagy Lou often has a surprise lurking, so what can it be?

Oh. It's an Angiolino Maule Pico Bianco 2008. Wait...what? What the hell is an Angiolino Maule Pico Bianco?

Lou must've come under the influence of the East Coast Wine Set again, and come back with a wine that no one else has ever heard of. Probably orange. Probably "natural wine." Probably Louis/Dressner. Has that look and feel about it, like something that Louis/Dressner would find back in the mountains or tucked away in a little village somewhere.

Hey, it's good!!! Tasty stuff. Fresh, clean, slightly nutty and smooth. Medium-bodied, slightly chewy and clean---did I say that already? I think I did.

[Later on I did a little research, and yep, it was Louis/Dressner, and the wine is organic, 'natural', artisanal, small batch, wine-with-a-philosophy (oh, I already said Louis/Dressner, didn't I?) from the Veneto. It is technically Gambellara, a designation that means more-or-less the extended area of Soave. Maule makes several wines; the Pico is 100% Garganega (the primary grape of Soave), but here it is open-vat fermented, no sulphur added, and the grapes show off their natural, un-adorned character with startling simplicity and purity of aroma and flavor. It's a real find, and a delightful discovery.]

We're enjoying ourselves, with all the wines that Lou has laid out, and with the rotating servings of finger food---those mushroom caps, my, my; and I can't say no to the ceviche; and those tiny, handmade cheese crackers! Face it, I have no willpower where BL's food is concerned---but we all know very well why we're here and what the main show is going to be, so when BL suggests we move toward the table as we hear the delicate pop of a Champagne bottle in the next room, we need no further urging. Cassoulet, here we come!

Cassoulet at the Kesslers 2011: Part 1

2011-04-23T10:06:00.000-07:00

It was a dark and stormy night.

No, really. It was. The weather was miserable, with steady rain all day, an occasional grumble of thunder off in the distance, whippy winds coming from nowhere, and occasional hailstorms piling up little glistening projectiles over the streets and lawns.

But the magic hour was approaching. BettyLu had been working away all day in the kitchen, assisted by a hard working and lusty wench with some surprising talents, and the guests were about to arrive. Lou had the wines arrayed on the counter of the bar. Everything, finally, was in readiness.

The legendary JBL (he invented wine retail in California) arrived, looking dapper and Euro-stylish with one arm tucked carefully away inside the folds of his leather jacket. We all suspected a tale out of James Bond's exploits..but it was only trying to climb the precarious hills of upper Berkeley after a hail storm and losing balance that occasioned the limp wrist. It's dangerous going out to get the newspaper in Berkeley. Californians just aren't used to inclement weather of the frozen variety. Lynn, apparently intelligent enough not too walk down icy clay slopes in the rain, looked fine, and a welcome sight she was for us Oregon travelers.

Then they came in a clutter: Mark Anisman, the stylish doctor and wine aficionado from up-valley; the elusive Pimpernel of wine, Alan Bree, with a Ridge lurking underneath his coat for Lou (although it's not in any way an unusual or remarkable sight to see Bree and Ridge in the same place---it's been said that Bree knows more about Ridge than that guy Draper, and it may be true---closely followed by Nils Lofgren, rock star...no, I mean Nils Venge, wine star.

The space between wine bar and kitchen immediately became crowded, as it always does on cassoulet night, as everyone maneuvered for position halfway between the wine and the food, and thus halfway between BettyLu and Lou, and stories about the year were babbled betwixt and between, and a year past was caught up on.

The lineup of wines was, as usual, impressive.

Lou keeps his excellent cellar well stocked with lovely Austrian wines. This time he pulled out a Rudi Pichler Gruner Veltliner Smaragd 2001. I never fail to marvel at the silky-smooth, rich mouthfeel of a good Gruner---and this is a very good Gruner at the right age, although it will probably live for a very long time to come. That celery seed and white pepper nose with minerals and acids lurking underneath round it out and firm it up even more. It's perfect with the little crisp pastry cups filled with lime-laced ceviche that are going around.

Next up was another Austrian...another Wachau...another 2001...another Smaragd...and another winner, but this time a Riesling, the 2001Franz Hirtzberger Singerriedel Riesling.

If anything, more brisk and acid-driven, with a clean, slaty, brisk, lean---well, you get the idea. Shiver the senses Riesling, this is. Hair rising on the arms Riesling. Covet the bottle Riesling. Why don't I drink more Riesling? Riesling. (Because I don't have many Rieslings like this on hand usually.)

Strictly in the interests of scientific curiosity, I decided it was necessary to sample ceviche once more, this time with the Hirtzberger. Wow! Two things emerge immediately: BettyLu (and her talented sous-chef) know how to make great ceviche, and Lou knows how to match wines with ceviche.

End of Part I. Part II to come, with a classic French and a nouvelle Veneto shortly!

Copa di Vino: Could You, Would You, Should You?

2011-04-10T09:42:00.000-07:00

Strolling through my local upscale food emporium---you can't really call them grocery stores anymore; it just doesn't seem proper and fitting somehow---I noticed that above the freshly prepared and pre-portioned foods a rack contained two new items, Copa di Vino Chardonnay and Cabernet Sauvignon. (There are apparently other wines called Riesling, Merlot, and Pinot Grigio in the Copa di Vino lineup, but were not present in this establishment.)

An idea made real by a Columbia Valley winery entrepreneur and featured on the TV show "Shark Tank", wherein budding billionaires propose their ideas to potential investors, Copa di Vino is a 'by the glass' serving of wine packaged as...well, a by the glass serving of wine complete with glass, all sealed up and ready for consumption with only a twist of the lid required.

Fully disposable for our disposable culture, or I suppose eminently reusable and recyclable, a la jelly jars, the Copa di Vino may either be a brilliant sales and marketing idea or another item that seemed brilliant at the time. The jury, as they say, is still out.

Thing is, this is neither brilliant nor particularly new, simply a retread of an idea put into practice many years before with moderate success. At least thirty years ago Hacienda Wine, from Sonoma Valley, produced many thousands of cases of pre-packaged by the glass containers with plastic glasses inverted on a single-serving wine bottle and shrink wrapped together. Paul Masson's version of "container and server combined" leaned toward a more profitable and practical and less costly concept of bottling their wine in decanter-shaped and metal-lidded bottles which could subsequently be used, one assumes, for decanting other wines---if one did not particularly care that all wines thenceforth served would bear the rubric of Paul Masson.

Copa di Vino is merely another version of the concept; with refinement and focus, one might say; or merely a tweaking through advanced technology enabling a slight improvement, another might say.

Trouble is, it comes down to wine as a convenience beverage against wine as more-than-a-beverage: whether it is more important to have uncompromised quality in the glass, even it it is not particularly convenient and requires the actual (quel horreur) extra step of pouring from one container to another slightly smaller, or whether the quality does not matter so much as the ability to have what one wants when one wants it...as long as one doesn't care whether the satisfaction of the urge is particularly satisfying or not.

So: $2.99 for a few ounces of what is likely to be a mediocre, factory-produced, volume driven glass of indiscriminate plonk (despite the flowing varietal descriptions on the package, does anyone really expect more than that?). Would you? Could you? Should you?

I could. I probably should, so I can opine on the experience. But I wouldn't, and didn't, so I'll have to rely on more intrepid souls with investigate drive to supply the answer. If you're that person, by all means, try it and let me know.

Guess serving cost per ounce coupled with convenience isn't what I consider important when it comes to wine. Silly me.

Curiouser and Curiouser: Brocard Chablis Vaulorent 2008

2011-03-23T10:17:00.000-07:00

Curiouser and curiouser...

I've been a fan of Jean-Marc Brocard Chablis for a long time now, and I usually like his Vaulorent Premier Cru.

Found this at a particularly good price, and it was a good vintage, so I figured it was a great deal.

Sadly, it really wasn't.

It was pleasant enough, and nothing was "wrong" with it...but I expect more than pleasant enough from a good Chablis. I expect outstanding.

As a Chablis AOC, this would likely have been fine. But it wasn't, It was a Chablis Premier Cru, and that raises expectations.

The essential nature of Chablis was there---the clean, unwooded lines of Chardonnay---but it was pro forma and lacking in focus and grip and anything that would distinguish it as wine from an exceptional site.

There was a vague sense of citrus fruit, but no definable or distinctive elements within that generic description. There was little to no liveliness or vivacity that I expect from Chablis Premier Cru, and no perceptible depth or dimension either. No minerality, no oyster shells, no salty breeze in the nose---really, none of the things that I look for in Chablis Premier Cru.

I'll hasten to add---before the legion of wine geeks suggest that I overlooked this aspect---that I considered this may be in a 'closed' phase. Been known to occur in Burgundies, and definitely in Chablis. But that wasn't it. The wine wasn't closed up or hiding in its shell. Just not much there there. I'd like to be generous and say the wine will blossom out within a few years...but I really don't expect it will.

I say this with reservation---as mentioned, I've been a fan of Brocard for a while...but this one just didn't make the cut. Doesn't mean I'm off Brocard. One wine does not a legend make or break, and I'd have to have more misses than hits, and Brocard still leads with many hits. So I'll go back and try other Brocard Chablis and hope this was just a one-off.

Artezin Zinfandels: Getting back to what Zin is supposed to be.

2011-02-23T18:44:00.000-08:00

If more Zinfandel tasted like this, I'd be drinking more Zinfandel.

Had an opportunity to taste the two basic Artezin offerings this week in the company of winemaker Randle Johnson. I came away thinking I needed to have more Artezin Zin in my drinking lineup.

Randle is an affable, comfortable guy who's literally experiencing the wide variety of wine regions all over the world as the key winemaker for Donald Hess and his collection of wineries. But it's apparent from the get-go that Randle is a zinfandel lover...and not just zinfandel, but the kind of zinfandel that used to be the standard, before it got replaced with mucky, gobby stewed globs of over-ripe fruit and screeching alcohols.

With Artezin, Randle explained, the intent was to make zins the way California used to make them: solid, easy drinking, brambleriar and fresh berry fruit and pepper spice wines that were made to drink and enjoy.

I'd say that's an exact description of the two wines put in front of me to taste.

The first was the 2009 Artezin Mendocino Zinfandel, with zippy, bright boysenberry and blackberry fruit...okay, maybe a touch of pom-wonderful puckerishness in there to liven it up...followed by a blast of black pepper and clove and spicy cinnamon to tingle the palate, then finishing with a slightly sweet/slightly peppery slide of bakery spices. No raisins, no prunes, no over-sweetened jam, no drench of alcohol, and no scratchy tannins to get in the way but just enough to keep it all interesting. You know, the kind of zin that when you finish your first glass, you look around for the bottle for your second glass? I think they used to call it "rustic". Yeah, that kind of zin.

The second bottle followed through with that same streak of red fruit, black fruit, spice---but it was noticeably different from the Mendocino. It was the 2007 Artezin Dry Creek Zinfandel. The additional two years had softened it up and rounded it out a bit, and the provenance of Dry Creek had added more black fruit and a notch more body and grippy mouthfeel, and along with that a touch more natural tannin. Had more grip to it, and more bite of spice and cracked black pepper in its nature, but toned down with a little age. Altogether, a very nice Sonoma Dry Creek zin.

With the two, we had the bookends of the perfect range of zinfandel---light, bright and zingy from Mendocino, and full-bodied, meaty and structured from Dry Creek. Nothing excess. Nothing overstated. Nothing obtrusively manipulated. Just....good, honest zinfandel.

And nowadays, that's a lot.

This writing thing can be fun...

2010-12-16T12:38:00.000-08:00

It can also be work. It can even, on rare occasions, be remunerative.

Not much, but some.

Recently scored a few new venues in which to write I wanted to share.

First, after my several articles as the Portland Spirits Examiner for Examiner.com, they have now appointed me the National French Wine Examiner for same internet magazine.

My new "beat" covers...well, pretty much anything I want to write about regarding French wines!

That's a pretty big territory to cover, I think you'll admit. Shouldn't be boring--at least to me, anyway. Can't speak for the people that have to read what I scribble/type.

If you'd like to read the first couple of article you can go here.

And in future, you can go to the upper right side of this page and click on the link to the National French Wine Examiner.

The first article is regarding Pierre Lurton's announcement today featuring Yquem By The Glass at some fantastic French and Monte Carlo restaurants. Think of Yquem By The Glass at Pierre Gagnaire in Paris: if that doesn't sound exciting, then you're not very much of a gastronome!

I'm also in process of penning a lead article for a liquor magazine on bitters and bitter liqueurs. More about that anon.

Channeling James Joyce in the rain, or Metrovino Musings in PDX

2010-12-01T16:38:00.000-08:00

We found ourselves in the Pearl District of Portland during a dark and dreary rush hour---at 4:00pm already as dark as Hades and made worse with the steady cold rain---and decided to do discretion over valor by running over to Metrovino for a sip and a nosh.

Kyle Webster, formerly behind the stick at Noble Rot and prime bartender for the House Spirits RPM Wednesdays (another favorite event sure to brighten up an otherwise mediocre middle of the week), had moved to Metrovino to run the bar program there, and we'd been intending to drop in and see what he had done.

Kyle Webster at Eat: An Oyster Bar for House RPM Wednesday

It was the same clean and classy place it had always been, with a pleasant mixture of stainless super modern and quiet muted tones, all elegant and Euro-chic. It's still a wine-centric place too, with the obvious emphasis on the impressive Enomatic dispenser machines that line the wall behind the bar to support the aggressive program of wines-by-the-glass and wine flights.

My wife immediately opted for a white wine and Kyle, who is as adept with the wine list as the cocktail list, suggested the Marcel Deiss Pinot Blanc Bergheim 2009---which turned out to be just the thing.

Deiss can certainly be controversial, and his philosophy of winemaking often polarizes people for muting terroir; on the other hand, he's capable of making some damn fine wines, as exampled by this lovely smaragd-like Pinot Blanc (fat, silky, but totally dry and about as fragrant as Pinot Blanc can be expected to be).

I was there to check out Kyle's bartender chops, of course, so after we sparred for a while and I dawdled through the cocktail list, we settled on a "James Joyce", a mix of Jameson Irish, sweet vermouth, Cointreau, and fresh squeezed lime juice, served up.

Since it was a distinctly fine Dublinish day outside, this drink was a perfect warmer of cockles, whatever they are. I'd like to think Mr. Joyce had the benefit of the whiskey part of being Irish, and suspect he did with his obvious but not always immediately coherent loquacity.

The James Joyce @ Metrovino

The clean, crisp line of the Irish whiskey showed through nicely; the thankfully restrained Cointreau hit just the right balance and addition of flavor and the sweet vermouth and fresh lime juice equaled things out for a light, refreshing whiskey drink that avoided the sweetness of bourbon or the smokiness of scotch.

I spotted one of my favorite 'go to' wines on the list, a Prager Gruner Veltliner Federspiel 2008, and of course had to try it; meanwhile, my red wine loving wife was ready for something deeply colored and deeply flavored, and I suggested the Buty Syrah 'Rediviva of the Stones 2007, a massive, tightly structured, intense Syrah from Wall Walla AVA that manages to avoid any sense of gobbiness. (And not coincidentally, in my opinion one of the top Syrahs in America.)

Both the Prager and the Buty were gorgeously perfumed, albeit in totally different ways, and the subsequent shared sipping was quite an aromafest. Fortunately, we had anticipated this by ordering a bruschetta appetizer and a cheese dish.

The Bruschetta was not only beautiful to behold, it was equally gorgeous to devour, and just the thing to step up to the wine.

On a slab of char-grilled Ken's Artisan Bread (a local favorite), the chef arranged a tangy herbed goat cheese and topped it with avocado, cucumber and a Provencal-styled black olive tapenade.

The contrast of the silky avocado and the bright, crunchy cucumber was an unexpected delight with the celery-crunch green of the Gruner, and the tapenade reached out to the Buty Syrah like they were long-separated family fondly reuniting.

As we were chasing the last few pitiful crumbs of bread from the bruschetta, the cheese plate made its timely entrance.

We had chosen the Bermuda Triangle, from the same people that make the glorious Humboldt Fog, a dense, nicely aged goat's milk cheese with a funky rind.

It was garnished with toast crisps (not enough), walnuts, a balsamic fig reduction, and a single gigantic candied fig. The Triangle was so deliciously pungent with its just-short-of-old-gym-socks microbacterial funkiness, it needed the Buty Syrah to step up and have a serious discussion with it. It did.

Conversely, the Syrah was wound so tight, the cheese convinced it to open up a bit more and reveal that tart raspberry core, so the conversation worked out well for all concerned.

If I had to make one criticism of the dish, I'd question the overt sugar-syrup intensity of the candied fig as too much; stick with the balsamic fig reduction, but substitute a dried Mission fig instead of candied, I'd say.

Then Metrovino provided a pleasant surprise with a courtesy followup of cheese to get us through the remainder of the wine.

Our server presented us with a plate of Adelle, a local cow and sheep milk combo cheese from the Ancient Heritage Cheese Company in Scio, Oregon, garnished with perfectly toasted pistachios (harder than you think), slices of truffle, and nicely spiced pears.

The cheese was remarkable, semi-solid in the middle with some creaming going on at the edges and a soft, chewy rind still holding it together. And this time the juicy spice of the pears was a perfect compliment to the cheese and pistachios and truffle, with all the elements playing off each other for in a sort of harmony through contrast.

All in all, a pleasant interlude out of the traffic and weather and into the warmth and hospitality. Metrovino is a perfect place to go for that shank of the day happy hour. But it's a great destination for dinner too. The small plates, the wines, and the spirits merely whetted our appetites to get back and experience more.

The Cocktail Chronicles: NW Food and Wine Festival Cocktail Competition

2010-11-28T11:14:00.000-08:00

Recently I was asked to be one of five judges for the NW Food and Wine Show Cocktail Competition. It was a $1,000 winner-take-all contest with ten contestants, and we were asked to judge on technique, hospitality, presentation, taste of cocktail, and an overall score.

I was deeply, deeply impressed by the sheer creativity coupled with the distinct professionalism of the entrants. Could hardly find fault with any of them, honestly; and the final decisions came down to some very, very fine hairsplitting judgements at the end of things.

Without going into too much detail, I'll simply show you what nine of the ten cocktails were. Sadly, I somehow lost one of them; chalk it up to poor photography. For the missing cocktail, I'll show the bartender instead.

And cocktails do a pretty good job of that as well...

First up was David Shenaut, Beaker and Flask/Central, with his cocktail "Thank You Santa, Love, Daddy", with New Deal Distillery Barley and Cane White Dog, Oaxaca mezcal, Mexican cinnamon, and Oaxaca Chocolate, all muddled together in a saucepan, poured and topped with cream flavored with mezcal and a chocolate star. Served hot on a cold and rainy night. Yum. Earthy and rich and warm and satisfying. (It might be apparent that David had just gotten back from a trip to Tequila and Oaxaca, and was still in the thrall of what he had discovered and brought back.)

Adam Robinson, Park Kitchen, entered his cocktail, the Black Friday Flip, created because he prefers a liquid dessert to a heavy one at Thanksgiving. It is composed of Cofia Hazelnut Espresso Infused Vodka, allspice, Libby's Pumpkin Pie Mix, and Rogue Shakespeare Stout, with a raw egg added, and shaken violently. It's a silky-soft and not too sweet alternative to pumpkin pie. Or with pumpkin pie even.

Next up was Heather Brady, from Thatch Tiki Bar. Heather, the Portland Queen of Tiki, showed she had plenty of style with other drinks as well, and whipped up a Red Berry White, a crisp and snappy mix of New Deal Gin #3, Cherry Heering, and Angostura bitters. Heather prefers her drinks simple and declarative, and that's what the Red Berry White was. And you gotta love the resurrection of Cherry Heering!

Michael Lorberbaum, of McMenamins Ringlers Annex Bar, offered up his Fireside Flip, made with Edgefield 8 year old Brandy, Edgefield Longshot Immature Brandy (aged less than 2 years), Fireside Dessert Zinfandel, demerara sugar, a raw egg, shaken, and garnished with a Fireside Zinfandel Syrup and nutmeg. Another silky flip, with creative use of the sweet, berry Zinfandel in and on the drink.

Neil Kopplin, of Clyde Common, and partner/co-creator of Imbue Oregon Vermouth, had to cancel his original cocktail at the last moment, so he browsed the floor of the NW Food and Wine Festival and came up with several inspirations---from which he created, on the spur of the moment, his cocktail "From the Hands of Buddha".

Neil selected Deco Ginger Rum, Hot Monkey Vodka by New Deal Distillery, Yuzu Luxe Sour, lime, and shavings of Buddha Hand Zest, over rocks. Damn tasty stuff too. Excellent with Dungeness crab sushi, which Neil scavenged for us, and worth replicating (which I hope Neil does for the summer).

Cute, perky, smiling Lindsay Matteson, from Mint/820, whipped up her cocktail, the Aurora Borealis, with New Deal #3 Gin (with juniper as the sole botanical!), POM pomegranate juice, Minx OJ Bitters (homemade, and the minx in question might just be Lindsay), orange juice, and a float of Gruet Brut Sparkling Wine from New Mexico. A sophisticated drink from a woman with sophisticated tastes.

Tommy Klus, of The Teardrop Lounge and Central, came in a relaxed mood, wearing his plaid robe for the holidays, and made what turned out to be the winning cocktail for the evening, the Feliz Noggy Nog, a confabulation of New Deal Mud Puddle Vodka (with fresh-roasted cacao beans placed in the vapor stream of the still during the making); Del Maguey Crema de Mezcal; Trader Tiki Cinnamon Syrup; Domain Schistes Maury 2007 (a dessert-like grenache from the Rhone; in a pinch, you can substitute a light port); xocolatl bitters; cinnamon; maraschino liqueur; and an egg. Klus dusted the top of the drink with nutmeg through a christmas tree stencil, then dusted it with lightly with sugar.

A dangerous, challenging drink to make, with all the differing ingredients, and with the potential for over-sweetness if not balanced---could be fraught with disaster, but Tommy pulled it off; the Feliz Noggy Nog was delicious: better than the best eggnog you've ever had, considerably lighter, and with considerably more complex flavors. A winner, as it turned out.

Next up was Allison Webber, from the Irving Street Kitchen, with her Winter Solstice, a gorgeous combination and balance of flavors. Allison started with her home-made reduction of apple cider, honey and thyme , added Edgefield Hedgehog Whiskey, Carpano Antica Formulae vermouth, Anchor Steam Christmas Ale, and Meyer Lemon. After a shake/shake/shake for a good head of foam, and a garnish of organic rose hips, she served up to unanimous oohs and ahhhs from the judges. The Winter Solstice had a superb balance of fruit, citrus, beer and spirits, and a great mouthfeel. And Allison took first runner up, just a shade away from Tommy's Feliz Noggy Nog.

Then came Jabriel Donohue, from Acadia, with his Honeyed Words. This time the gin of choice was Organic Nation, and the beer was a rare urbock rauchbier (made with smoked barley malt). Jabriel added some xocolatl bitters and honey, mixed, poured into tall, elegant, individual flutes, then topped with a beer and honey foam. Again, the judges were impressed: the drink was beautiful and inviting, delivering itself up in three stages; first, there was honey, then the clear bite of gin, then a nutty, malty beer flavor, and finally a hint of autumn smoke. Good enough for Jabriel to get second runner up. And it was close. Very close.

Coming up last in rotation was Mary Bartlett, from The Teardrop Lounge, making a big entrance with her own mini-boombox and custom music for the season, and plugging in a steam kettle for pre-heating the glasses for her Family Feud. Mary concocted a mixture of New Deal Mud Puddle Vodka, El Tesoro Reposado Tequila, agave syrup, Branca Menta, lemon juice...and then topped it off with a light sprinkle of Molokai Hawaiian Red Sea Salt. Chocolate, tequila, and mint: who knew? Apparently, Mary did.

It was a great competition, with some tremendous talent on display. Proof of that was the final judging, with all the contestants coming so close, with so little point difference amongst them, that it could truly be said that every one was a winner.

What's In A Name? The Italo-Germanic Edition: Teroldego, Tazzelenghe, and Schioppettino

2010-11-13T21:37:00.000-08:00

Words and names fascinate me. They are a linguistic insight into a culture and a way of thinking. And drinking.

So I 'collect' these words wherever and whenever I can.

The curious commingling of culture in north central and north east Italy---the Trentino-Alto Adige, Friuli, and the Veneto---have created some wonderful and unforgettable wine names.

In the alpine valleys of the Trentino-Alto Adige, where it is still likely to find both Italian and German language labels, there is a grape called Teroldego, full formal name Teroldego Rotaliano.

Depending upon the authority you're listening to, that would be derived from "the gold of Tirol--or Tyrol", or from the German root word "teer", which means tar, and which alludes to some characteristic tarry aspects of the wine.

Whether gold or tar, though---and we'll likely never know a definitive answer to the question---you should try the wine. It's a delightful medium-bodied red wine as brisk as those mountain meadows it comes from; and because it comes from a very cold climate, it's lean and lovely with plenty of acid. And that intriguing slightly tarry aroma and flavor we already talked about.

A delightful and easily attainable Teroldego is made by Elisabetta Foradori

Over in Friuli, a region I truly love, enough so that I could easily concoct some fantasy of a past life there and could happily live there in my dotage as an impoverished American expatriate nibbling on prosciutto and sipping on wine and Illy cafe, there are, of course abundant names from the collision of Italian, German, Austrian, and Slovenian cultures that have trammeled back and forth over the centuries in this surprisingly quiet and pastoral little backwater (in terms of raging tourism, I mean to say.)

First there is Tazzelenghe, which is Italian for "cut the tongue", referring to the amazingly thin, sharp red wine with such high acids and phenols that it "slices the tongue" when it is tasted. Sounds delicious, hm?

Well, actually...it can be good, although many think of it as an *ahem* acquired taste. It is definitely an angular, sharp-edged wine, and needs food to temper its acerbity, but with a simple sandwich of prosciutto da San Nicola (a local treasure), a little butter (hey, can you really have too much fat in your diet?) and a crusty loaf of fresh-baked bread, maybe a little basilico, Tazzelenghe comes into its own.

For a reliable producer, look for Girolamo Dorigo Tazzelenghe.

The other Friulano wine---Schioppettino---is rather assertive as well, although not nearly to the degree of Tazzelenghe. Schioppettino, which means 'little gunshot' in local Italian dialect, is an apt name for a wine that is almost explosive in the mouth with its tightly demarcated flavors that snap the palate to attention in a one-gun salute to vinous pucker power.

For a reliable producer, try Bressan Schioppettino.

But to step back from such literary over-reach, let's just say the Schioppettino is usually more tame than that, and can be a very satisfying red, in a charming, rustic sort of way. Served quite well when an impromptu picnic in an Italian churchyard in the Grave del Friuli beckoned. And to this day, I don't know if the slight, lingering notes of gunpowder were actual, or merely a product of my all too fertile imagination as I lolled contentedly on the greensward swilling the wine.

I think it doesn't really matter anyway.

Campo de Encanto Pisco: the best Pisco you'll ever taste

2010-11-11T11:09:00.000-08:00

The traditional clear brandy of Chile and Peru, Pisco, has had three brief flirtations with fame in the U.S. It’s about to have another. And this one could be the most famed of all.

The History Stuff...

In the waaaaay back of cocktail history, the 1800s, an unknown became instantly famous when a trading ship arrived in San Francisco from Peru with, among other goods, a fiery but silky brandy from the port of Pisco.

Immediately thereafter an enterprising soul created a popular drink called the Pisco Punch, a sweet but potent concoction of tropical fruits and the clear, unaged, aromatic grape brandy. It was all the rage in rowdy San Francisco.

The punch, and the spirit, however, remained largely a San Francisco and west coast phenomenon, and never became widely known in other areas.

In the 1970s, Pisco had a second surge, partly because of an outrageous black bottle that looked like an ancient temple carving and partly because of another iconic drink, the Pisco Sour, an aromatic and foamy variation on a whiskey sour---which was also created in San Francisco. (Local Peruvian restaurant Andina makes a classic Pisco Sour.)

This time Pisco did go nationwide, but the fad waned and the South American brandy became an almost forgotten spirit again, remembered only by a few historical-minded bartenders.

In the 1990s, with the onslaught of Latin American cuisine as a major force shaping the food world in the U.S., Pisco made another comeback, and more brands became available, but it still lacked that final ingredient for lasting success. Something was missing, it seemed.

Back to today...

Three guys in San Francisco figured out what was missing: passion. They were passionate about pisco, and set out to make the best pisco possible. Duggan McDonnell, of Cantina in San Francisco; sommelier and spirits maven, Walter Moore; and Peruvian distiller Carlos Romero put their cumulative passion together to create a “pisco of the people” in an artisanal, small batch, high quality pisco.

The result: Campo de Encanto Pisco. It’s not ‘just another pisco.’ It sets a new standard for pisco, and elevates it to a whole new level of prominence. (Yes: it’s that good.)

The Slightly Technical Stuff...

In Peru, they take pisco very, very seriously. They claim it as their national spirit and constantly squabble with rival Chile over who can claim pisco honors.

Peru also has codified and regulated the production of pisco, establishing four specific types:

Pisco Puro: essentially, a pisco made from one of the approved grape varieties.

Pisco Aromatico: pisco made from one of the approved aromatic varieties.

Pisco Mosto Verde: made from ‘green must’, or partially fermented grapes that retain a bit of sweetness

Pisco Acholado: ‘half breed’; a blend of Puro and Aromatico grapes

The Stuff Itself...

Campo de Encanto is Pisco Acholado, a brilliant combination of Puro and Aromatico that achieves a fresh, rich, silky-textured aroma and flavor profile that is bound to please even the most demanding palate. It is both fruity and spicy; soft and peppery; clean yet aromatic; and manages a perfect balance of flavors.

Although Peru requires only 3 months of mellowing or 'resting' pisco, Encanto ages for a full 9 months for extra smoothness.

With the pure unadulterated expression of aromatic grapes at its core, Campo de Encanto is superb all by itself; it truly shines, though, when used as a cocktail base because it marries beautifully with a wide range of flavors without ever losing its essential identity (think of the persistence of 100% agave tequila versus the simple and cheap mixto grade, and you’ve got the gist of it).

Bartenders are a pretty tough crowd with high standards. The quality has to be there for them to get excited. And they are almost universally excited about Campo de Encanto Pisco, so you’ll see it on back bars at the best places and as a component in many creative cocktails.

Bourbon and Barolo at D.O.C., or When Drinking Patterns Change

2010-10-31T17:52:00.000-07:00

It was a dinner celebrating an anniversary and since some of our best dinners had been in Italy we wanted Italian and intimate.

We got both with D.O.C., an intimate (okay, let's just say small. Really small. Tiny. Itsy-bitsy. We're talking kiosk here) Italian-themed place in NE Portland.

I would imagine in summertime D.O.C. would be a lovely place with its tables spreading across the sidewalk outside on a sleepy little side street. Fall is another proposition. D.O.C. is, quite simply, a restaurant in search of space. It takes 'cozy' to an extreme.

When you walk in, you have to be careful not to slam the door against the two chefs hard at work. The kitchen is to either side of the door, consisting of two cooking/prep areas separated by a non-slip rug in center. Once you're safely past the chefs, though, it's a lovely little space in minimal white, snowy white tables and a gorgeous chandelier. Just too small.

Our table for two ended up being next to the combination linen closet/computer room/cd room and adjacent to the bathroom door. Wasn't a slam on us as guests though: all the tables, of necessity, were that way; our's just happened to be closest.

Certainly can't fault the staff either. They were attentive without hovering (and, trust me, it would be easy to hover in this place), warm and helpful, and knew their menu and wine list inside and out.

I began with a "Milano", one of I think a total of two cocktails offered and essentially a variation on a Manhattan with bourbon, Carpano Antico vermouth, and Fernet Branca. Pretty tasty; but then I don't know of any Manhattan variation that isn't when it is made with good ingredients and a measured hand. And this one was. My wife opted for Prosecco, which she pronounced was simply perfect.

For our dinner wine I chose a lovely Marziano Abbona La Pieve Barolo 2005 from the short but well managed list. It was truly fine throughout the entire meal. Not a blockbuster by any stretch; this was a subtle, elegant, earthy, mushroomy (good for this meal for sure) and rose petal Barolo, the kind that seduces you with gentle words rather than trying to overpower you. And we surrendered to it easily.

There's a magic in good Piemontese Barolo, and this one had it; it was capable of providing an excellent companion for the food and reviving fond memories of the region at the same time. Which was exactly what we had wanted.

The menu gave us two ways to go: either a a la carte or the chef's menu, a selection of five courses chosen by the chef. Since we prefer making our own selections, especially in a place new to us, we elected for a la carte; the chef's selection was a good deal at $50 per though.

One salad was narrated so well and enthusiastically we decided to sample it. It was a memorable salad, a combination of perfectly toasted hazelnuts, chunked and sauteed delicata squash, fine sliced apples and a belper knolle cheese from Switzerland.

We then shared a pasta course of gnocchi, lobster mushrooms and ladysmith fondue that was quite a surprise: a 'dry' style gnocchi, heavily sauteed until it was crispy brown, with loads of mushrooms. a light helping of the fondue, and tangy julienned green onions. Delicious.

For the main course my wife chose a curious veggie pasta dish of lasagna with kale, chanterelle mushrooms, and squash. The ingredients were perhaps a bit too close to the previous gnocchi course, I think, with the mushroom/greens/squash combination, and the lasagna was startling: it had been toasted heavily, and was more like a flatbread or toasted crackers than lasagna. Didn't seem like pasta at all. The taste was good, mind you; it was simply a disconcerting preparation. And sadly, it didn't work that well for us.

The sturgeon dish I ordered was a hearty helping of three huge chunks of meaty, tender sturgeon on a bed of radishes and brussel sprouts. Once again, the saute pans were getting a workout tonight, as both radishes and brussel sprouts were halved and then sauteed heavily cut side down until they were caramelized and crusty brown. Outside of the heavy-handed saute work, the dish was lovely.

We had not intended to have coffee, but at a table nearby---but that would be any table in D.O.C.---the waitperson took down an sleek double-globed vacuum coffee maker, which had to be designed by an Italian, and went through a ritual more elaborate and mannered than a Japanese tea ceremony. So we said "What the heck" and went for it. More elaborate than it was worth, frankly; a basic French Press does the job better and the ceremony is simpler and the results better. Points for style though.

The final tally on D.O.C.? I'd be willing to go back...but I'll wait for Summer and one of those outside tables. The place puts out good food with a limited kitchen---more like a trattoria in Italy than a ristorante---and simply needs that extra space. On the other hand, if you're looking for intimate, that they have. Plenty of intimate.

Which brings us to the other topic: drinking patterns. What with the move to Portland and leaving some dear friends behind---who all happened to be devoted to good wine and food and the sharing thereof---we are dining more quietly these days. Just the two of us, more often than not. Or with relatives who don't really go for all that....um...'fancy stuff.'

Which means we are drinking fewer wines. Not necessarily less, mind you; just fewer. Add to that my rekindled fascination with spirits and cocktails (and my pecuniary encouragement of sampling them since I'm now a writer paid to do so), and the pattern at D.O.C. is pretty much the way we drink when we're out these days.

Our drinking en famille hasn't changed much though, so I do still sample around and stay current. And thank goodness I'm still getting around to all the trade events---sometimes so many that I'm busy every day---so I keep my palate fully primed.

But I sorely miss the days so recent and frequent of dining with small groups of people who enjoy the fine social art of wining and dining, and are able to appreciate and savor superb foods and wines...and most of all, to do so in a spirit of glowing hospitality.

I cherish dining with my wife alone, and I know she does as well. But I also know that she and I love the meals with friends even more, and we miss those. I'm sure things will change as we cultivate new acquaintances...as we have already begun to do...but we both miss the days when we would have a table groaning with food and wine and surrounded by smiling people and the chatter of good friends. Those are the best of times.

Dimmi Liquore di Milano

2010-10-26T10:17:00.000-07:00

There are few, very few, spirits that so perfectly capture the essence of a place as Dimmi Liquore di Milano.

Created by Stefano Turrini and produced by Sperone, Dimmi embodies the nature of northern Italy---specifically Lombardy and Piemonte.

If you are fortunate enough to have been there, Dimmi takes you back with one sip. If you are so unfortunate as to have not yet been there, Dimmi will create an instant urge to go and experience that special place.

Unique in aroma and flavor, Dimmi is a delicate combination of wheat spirits with a touch of grappa di Nebbiolo, the noble grape of Barolo and Barbaresco wines of the Piedmont.

The base spirit is then infused once with a family recipe from the 1930s of herbs and bitters, including assenzio gentile (Italian absinthe), liquorice, vanilla, rhubarb, ginseng and bitter orange.

A second floral infusion follows, with delicate peach and apricot blossoms, to add a distinct aromatic signature to the liqueur.

The resulting liqueur is unlike any other you've had, neither as starkly bitter and herbal as Campari, nor as sweet and spicy as Tuaca.

It rests delicately on the tongue and speaks softly in liquid Italian, with the fashionable elegance of a Milanese and the country charm of a Piemontese.

When sipping Dimmi, it's difficult not to picture the Galleria, or to feel the cool Alpine winds blowing down from the north. (It's also difficult to remain objective and not float away on a lyrical cloud when you're sipping Dimmi---it's just that kind of liqueur.)

But the best thing about Dimmi? Its inherent mixability in the hands of a creative mixologist. With its particular profile, what Turrini calls the masculinity of the herbal infusion and the femininity of the floral infusion---and yes, Italians do talk that way---the Dimmi inspires mixologists.

..............

Dimmi is Italian for "tell me", because Turrini kept getting questions about his new liqueur from bartenders...as in "tell me what that is...tell me what is in it...tell me how I can get it." When you taste Dimmi, you'll be saying the same thing.

Bordeaux Rouge---good wine without breaking the bank? It's possible.

2010-10-12T13:59:00.000-07:00

I generally don't flirt with too many red Bordeaux these days. I don't drink too much Cabernet or Merlot lately; I have quite a few reliable ones still marinating in my cellars; the current style of Bordeaux is not to my liking; most of the modestly priced Bordeaux aren't all that interesting; and I can't afford the Classified Growths as "regular", i.e., regularly drinking without spending my retirement account, wine.

But there are some modest Bordeaux rouge at modest prices.

Here are two I found recently, both coming in around a $12-14 retail price:

Chateau Roustaing Reserve Vielle Vignes, Bordeaux, 2006

Carrying the appellation of Bordeaux, but coming from the Entre-deux-Mers area, this vineyard sits on limestone/clay soil, and combines Cabernet Franc (45%), Cabernet Sauvignon (35%), and Merlot (20%).

It's that upfront, juicy, black tobacco Cabernet Franc that appeals to me, with the (I assume) slightly green and herbaceous Cabernet Sauvignon registering immediately afterwards. The notes indicate a 'thermovinification/maceration' for a few hours; I have no way of knowing, but I suspect that heated must in maceration pulls out more of those green pepper and green olive Cabernet tones. In any case, they are not too evident and add some interesting complexity to the wine.

While this isn't an earthshaking wine, and is definitely not in contention for any of the rarefied classifications, it is still a solid, medium-weight, fruit-driven red with moderate tannins. And for oakophobes, good news: there is none evident, perhaps because it was aged for only a few months in stainless steel vats.

Chateau de Lugagnac, Bordeaux Superieur, 2006

A straight-up 50/50 blend of Merlot and Cabernet Sauvignon, this new property (to me) lacks the tang of Cabernet Franc, and has noticeably softer black fruits and less herbaceousness, but is a fine drinking Bordeaux rouge.

Also macerated through 'thermoregulation', similar to the Roustaing, it differs again by having noticeable, but not overwhelming, oak influence from up to 13 months of new and used barrels.

This simply puts the wine more safely into a "traditional" Bordeaux rouge category. It's still an early-drinking wine though, as I seriously doubt it would have any long aging potential. But if you're looking for a nice, reliable, consistent Bordeaux rouge that will not drain your pocketbook, this one will that job just fine.

There's Beaujolais---then there's Cru Beaujolais!

2010-10-12T12:55:00.000-07:00

It may be a result of the geeky trend towards smaller production/artisanal styled wines. It may be the resurgence of small "craft" importers searching out and aggressively selling the discovered jewels. It may be, simply, the maturation of the wine culture in this country (which I'd like to think, but I don't.)

Whatever it is, there seems to be more (and better) Cru Beaujolais wine available than ever before.

Gamay Noir a jus blanc (Black grape; white juice; red wine)

As long as I remember wine aficionados have been trying to explain to people that "Beaujolais is not just Nouveau; and it's not just a once a year fling." Then it became apparent that further explanation and elucidation had to be made that "Beaujolais isn't just George Duboeuf; and it doesn't all taste like bubblegum."

If you base your understanding of Beaujolais on the oceans of largely indiscriminate swill from the southern flatlands, that which is labeled "Beaujolais AOC", you don't get a very inspiring picture of the region. It's light, it's simple, it's fruity, and there's little tannin. And little of anything of interest either, beyond serving as a summertime liquid to sip and forget.

Beaujolais-Villages, more from the central and northerly parts of the region, is a significant step-up in quality and style. But to get the heart of what this region can do, you have to go to the Cru Beaujolais.

These designated cru, each as distinct as can be, are clustered in the north, usually around the hillier and more forbidding slopes, and usually in small domain plots. And some of the Cru defy the sometimes candied nature of plonk Beaujolais by producing rich, velvety, deep and dark delights that can achieve both the level and the style of their more famous and respected Burgundy cousins to the North.

Here's evidence:

Jacky Janodet Moulin-au-Vent Domaine Les Fines Graves 2009

Janodet's domaine vineyard in Moulin-a-Vent is largely granite ("les fines graves" speaks to the fine, gravelly soil), situated high on the slope, and the firmly-rooted Gamay vines are more than 50 years old. Janodet farms to extremely low yields and gets impressive fruit and acid intensity in his wines---and more tannins than you would expect from this region. The resulting wine is deep and dark and slow to yield up its intrinsic fruit; it needs age and maturation and development to show its nature.

There's none of the strawberry candy and banana stink of the south here: this is that elusive "serious" wine from Beaujolais, the one that can get confused with Burgundy, but isn't. There's a fine velvety texture, rich black cherry, and a distinct mushroom and wet leaves earthiness to the wine. There are also hidden depths of complexity that suggest some long cellaring would draw out even more tantalizing aromas and flavors; it would be a shame to drink this wine now, as good as it is, because there is so much more it can---and will---become. I'd give it at least five years before I considered touching it, if I had my say.

For a domaine wine of this quality, the price is still well within the "easily affordable" range as well. Affordable enough that you can put some away for a few years and come back and thank me for the great advise on how to spend your money.

Blanc de Blancs Champagne: Duval-Leroy and Henriot Souverain

2010-10-12T10:00:00.000-07:00

I will confess here that Blanc de Blancs Champagne is not my favored style. I usually much prefer the richness and complexity that Pinot Noir brings to a blend. There are some all-Chardonnay Champagnes, however, that force me to reevaluate that stance---or at least provide outstanding exceptions to it--- and yesterday I found two of those side by side.

Duval-Leroy Brut Vintage Clos des Bouveries Champagne 2004 is one, a 100% Chardonnay from a plot ideally placed mid-slope overlooking the village of Vertus. The Chardonnay is partially barrel-fermented for added richness and body, and this provides an intriguing, seductive combination of light, bright citrus and mingled with distinct floral notes---think fresh spring fruit tree blossoms---on an explosive, foamy base. The tasting was done in regular, rather than flute glasses, and the creamy mousse was quite a pleasant surprise when it hit the palate!

Henriot Souverain 'Pur Chardonnay' Champagne NV, on the other hand, is a precise pointillist version of Blanc de Blancs, primarily from vineyards in the Cote des Blancs, with a brisk crystalline structure and tantalizing aromas and flavors of mint, lemon verbena, and crisp apple, resting on an elegant and creamy base of pinpoint bubbles. Aged for three to five years, it has a surprising long elegant finish, unusual in a Chardonnay Champagne. And although a Blanc de Blancs, you can safely pull this one out for your full-flavored foods: bring on the salmon and capers, the foie gras, the lobster rolls, because this Champagne can handle them with grace and style to spare.

And if you ever have the opportunity, visit Reims and take a tour of the magnificent Les Crayeres, Henriot's famous cellars 60 feet underground in the chalk banks of Champagne, originally quarried by the Romans. It's a lovely and memorable experience. Make a magnificent day of it by adding the glorious Cathedral and lunching at Boyer's Les Crayeres (a restaurant and luxury hotel, not a cave) that will satisfy all your culinary cravings.

The Henriot Pur Chardonnay also qualifies as something of a bargain---in the grand marque Champagne sense, at least---and is a worthwhile investment for a special holiday gathering. It makes for wonderful celebration and splendid festivity.

Mariah Zinfandel Mendocino Ridge 1997: Shame Zin doesn't age, huh?

2010-10-10T14:57:00.000-07:00

I was looking for something on a cool, rainy Oregon afternoon to have with a dinner of andouille sausage, baked sweet potato, and fresh local corn on the cob slathered in butter, with a side salad of chopped romaine with sweet yellow cherry tomatoes and balsamic dressing.

Had to be red, but there were still plenty of options because that's mainly what my "cellar" consists of, since I gobble down the whites about as fast as they arrive, and tend to hang on to the reds, usually long past their due dates, "just to see what will happen."

Sometimes, bad things happen and another beyond-its-time goes down the drain. Sometimes good things happen, and we get our reward here on earth.

Whimsy said, "Try the Mariah....Try the Mariah..."

But...but....it could be tired and dull.

"What the hell? At least, then you'll know. And if it is, you'll just be getting rid of another zinfandel that you held on to waaaay too long."

Well, I don't know. There are others that could be better.

"Ah, could/would/should...you got nothing to lose and everything to gain: you have two bottles, so if this one is good, you're a hero. If not, get it over with now, dude! And remember, 1) how good 1997 was in general, and 2) How much you've always been impressed with Mariah and how well it tends to hold together. So gwahn. You know you want it."

The results: I'm particularly brilliant at choosing Zinfandels that age well.

Gorgeous wine, and holding very, very well. Being clinical, I'd say it lost a bit of its youthful vivacity of fruit up front, but traded that in for a deeper, more rounded, more mature and complex berry-ness, dark and rich, with undertones of dark bitter chocolate.

The wood has softened and toned down as well, almost disappearing from threshold consciousness (which, sez I, is as it should be) so the remaining combination is full and rich, almost viscous, on the palate, with an intensely long finish that hangs in there with the loveliest mixture of delicacy and persistence.

Mendocino Ridge---Islands in the Sky, and still the only non-contiguous high altitude AVA in the US---has always posed that particular climatic/variety challenge that attracts the stubborn and determined, and results in a more-or-less European inconsistency of vintages unlike most of the rest of California.

Those grapes, especially in the Mariah Vineyard, are on the top of frickin' mountains, after all, within sight of the Pacific Ocean, and unprotected from those cold and biting ocean winds. But Mariah is above the fog line---hell, it's mostly above the cloud line too---so it gets the sunlight constantly. Only it's more luminosity than heat up there, so the grapes grow with lots of light but lots of intense cold too. The surviving vines---and many of them don't survive---are hardy little critters, and they tend to produce extremely intense and concentrated fruit, but without a lot of overwhelming sugars that the flatland grapes generate.

All Dan Dooley grows at Mariah is Zinfandel, with a little patch of Syrah, and in 1997 his grapes went to the winemakers down at Fetzer; it was a good partnership of an intense grower providing excellent grapes for a single-vintage Zin, with the advantages of the better distribution system that a large company has.

The Mariah 1997 was also excellent with the spicy andouille---even well-aged, there's something lovely in the berry fruit of a big, structured Zin with spicy-hot sausage---and the Dijon mustard that was beside it. Pretty damned good with the sweet potato too.

I'll be holding on to that last remaining bottle I have. This one was just fine, and I think the vintage has a little bit more revelation to give. But not too long. This was good enough I don't want to take a chance of wasting the final bottle.